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And eve'y loaf got the name beaucheouzly pwint on the top, with 'Patent' sich an' sich a time. 'Tis the tooth, Mr. Bison, I'm boun' to congwatulate you on that bwead." "O-o-oh! tat iss not mine prate," exclaimed the baker. "Tat iss not fun mine etsteplitchmendt. Oh, no! Tatt iss te prate I'm yoost dtellin' you tat iss te prate fun tat fellah py teh Sunk-Mary's Morrikit-house!
"Bressently" then a long silence "effrapotty in my etsteplitchmendt" another long pause "hef yoost teh same ettechmendt to Mr. Richlun," another interval, "tey hef yoost tso much effection fur him" another silence "ass tey hef" another, with a smile this time "fur te teffle himpselluf!" An oven opened in the baker's face, and emitted a softly rattling expiration like that of a bursted bellows.
Shtill I taught I voot take enough time to yoost trop in undt say to you tat I heffent het Mr. Richlun in my etsteplitchmendt a veek undtil I finte owdt someting apowt him, tot, uf you het a-knowdt ud, voot hef mate your letter maypy a little tifferendt written, yet." Now, at length, Dr. Sevier's annoyance was turned to dismay.
Richlun pin py my etsteplitchmendt, I tell you teh troot, Toctor Tseweer, I am yoost meckin' monneh haynd ofer fist!" He swung his chest forward again, drew in his lower regions, revolved his fists around each other for a moment, and then let them fall open at his sides, with the added assurance, "Now you kott teh ectsectly troot." The Doctor started away, but the baker detained him by a touch:
I yoost taught I'll trop in undt tell you, Toctor, tat I heffent het Mr. Richlun in my etsteplitchmendt a veek undtil I findte owdt tat he's a berfect tressure." Doctor Sevier started half up from his chair, dropped into it again, wheeled half away, and back again with the blood surging into his face and exclaimed: "Why, what do you mean by such drivelling nonsense, sir?
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